


Re-do

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Long Haul (Comic)
Genre: BDSM, Gunplay, Nonbinary Character, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21988624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: Rider thinks he's cute, tying himself up before he gets to Fisher's office, but his work's shoddy. At least Fisher has no objection to retying the harness themself. And then some.
Relationships: Fisher/Rider (Long Haul)
Kudos: 1





	Re-do

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be a shill here for a sec and recommend that everyone check out [Filthy Figments](http://filthyfigments.com/), a subscription service for erotic comics by female and nonbinary creators. It's good stuff--frequently queer, all sex-positive, and generally speaking _really hot_. This is based on one of my favorite comics on the site, _Long Haul_ by Jen Hickman, which is about a trans truck driver/drug runner and a nonbinary border agent. It's really fucking good! You should read it! Look, you can purchase the [first](https://comicorgy.com/product/long-haul-chapter-1/) [two](https://comicorgy.com/product/long-haul-chapter-2/) chapters separately if subscribing to Filthy Figments is too much hassle/commitment! I encourage you to go do that. This fic will still be here when you get back.

Rider’s back in town, and in Fisher’s office, and stripped down to the clumsy rope harness he tied himself, and leaning, he must think seductively, over Fisher’s desk. Fisher narrows their eyes. They’re seriously unimpressed with Rider’s ropework, that much is true, but the heat in their face must give away the fact that they’re flattered he tried. And, well, they’ve no objection to redoing the harness themself.

First, though, they yank him forward by it into a demanding kiss. Rider stumbles, splaying one hand out on the desk to keep his balance, but answers the kiss with an even greater hunger, sloppy and hard. He gets lonely on the road, he says. When Fisher pulls back, his eyes stay laser-focused on their lips.

Fisher gives the ropes criss-crossing his chest another tug so that he meets their eyes. “This is terrible,” they say flatly.

“Gee, thanks. Glad you like it, I tied it hoping I’d get to see you.”

“Where did you learn?”

“Internet.”

Fisher rolls their eyes and lets go of the rope.

“What? It’s not like I’ve got a full-length mirror in my truck, you know.”

They ignore his excuses and kick their shiny government boots through the pile of assorted weapons Rider cast aside in the process of stripping. Ah, there: a short utility knife with an unadorned handle and a sturdy-looking blade. Fisher picks it up, casually.

“Hold still,” they say. “I’m getting you out of that nonsense.”

“…Huh.” Eager amusement shines in the trucker’s eyes, and he obediently doesn’t move as Fisher saws through the ropes. Fisher can feel the way his eyes track their movements, can see the way his breath quickens as the blade-tip scrapes lightly over his skin. The black ropes fall away from his body, leaving him well and truly naked, and he wriggles his shoulders either to stretch them or because he thinks it’s sexy. His smirk suggests the latter. Fisher purses their lips against a snort of laughter at his absurdity.

Rider spreads his arms. “Better?”

“Not yet.” They go to their cabinet and take out their own rope, mentally rifling through their favorite ties. “Hands behind your back.”

Rider gives them silence to work, and for a few minutes their focus is only on the silky-rough texture of the rope in their hands and the stark contrast of scarlet against Rider’s tanned skin. Fisher binds his wrists first and then crafts a harness around his body that focuses on the hips and groin. They acknowledge the trucker’s wetness only once, dragging their fingers between his legs and raising an eyebrow at the sticky fluid they find there.

Rider gives a choked whimper at their touch and tries to move into it. “Come on…”

Fisher returns to the tie, and Rider grits his teeth.

Finally Fisher finishes with their work by tying Rider’s wrists to the back of the harness, and they step back to admire him. “Much better,” they say, a dig at his work and a genuine assessment at once. It really is a good look on him, the sleek rope over his calloused skin. Rider, ever impatient, fidgets.

“What else’ve you got for me, Fisher? Come on.”

With a nod at the floor, Fisher encourages Rider to his knees. But he still has to wait. As Fisher kicks out of their boots and removes their pants, they glance through the pile of weapons on the floor once more. That handgun will serve the purpose quite nicely. They bend to pick it up and deftly remove the magazine. Holding their finger well clear of the trigger, they aim it at Rider’s head as they slide into a half-seated position on the desk.

“What do you think?” they ask.

Rider goes cross-eyed looking up at the muzzle. “I think it’s sexier if you leave it loaded,” he says.

“I’m not doing that.”

“Tightass.”

Fisher sees no need to respond to that. Instead they take Rider by the back of the neck and pull him inward, gun pointed at his temple the whole time. It brushes against his buzzed hair and he licks his lips, just once, before he obeys Fisher’s unspoken order and gets to work. He sucks at their folds with chapped lips and an absurdly skilled tongue. Before long, thoughts of the faux threat and of proper trigger discipline are flown from Fisher’s mind. Their body is flushed with heat and their gaze goes out-of-focus. The gun hits the desk with a dull _clunk_ as they grasp frantically at its edge, still holding Rider by the neck, spine arched as orgasm steals over them like a breaking wave and they choke out Rider’s name.

They release Rider’s neck and lean backwards on both hands as they catch their breath. Rider waits with a semblance of patience, but Fisher can see him biting his lip. “You want some kind of reward, don’t you,” they say, dismissive but for the flush still in their cheeks.

“I think I’ve earned it,” Rider answers. He does a good job of hiding the fever in his eyes.

Fisher reaches down for him, guides him to standing. The rope harness leaves his groin open and exposed, and Fisher positions their thigh between his legs now. He’s dripping.

“Start grinding,” they order.

Rider looks at him in exasperation. “Really, is that all I—”

The gun again, now pointed at the soft underside of his jaw. Fisher curls their other hand around his ass, pulling him into position. He does twitch as his groin slides over their thigh, leaving a wet smear. “Get to it, Rider,” Fisher orders again, and this time, Rider doesn’t question it. He moves against Fisher’s leg, and it may not be exactly what he was hoping for but he’s so pent-up from months on the road that it’s more than enough for him. Soon his movements go erratic—the barrel of the gun hits his jawbone more than once—and at last he bucks with a sharp cough of a groan and comes. He leans forward over Fisher’s shoulder, and Fisher puts the gun down to stroke the back of his neck.

“Welcome to Carmine,” they say with a thin smirk. Rider buries his face in their chest, and he laughs.


End file.
